


Familial Ties

by but love is blind (orphan_account)



Category: Merchant of Venice - Shakespeare
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Becoming a family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Bonding, Family Fluff, Father-Son Relationship, Foster Care, Gen, Mother-Son Relationship, Past Child Abuse, Past Drug Addiction, rebuilding a relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-08 21:14:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4320954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/but%20love%20is%20blind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How far would you go to find your son?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Familial Ties

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [I Found Him](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4122859) by [Connorperry42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Connorperry42/pseuds/Connorperry42). 
  * Inspired by [Second Chance](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3835084) by [Juli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juli/pseuds/Juli). 



_How far would you go to find your son?_ I wonder. I take another glance at the picture in my hand. I was so young, too young to be holding a baby in my arms, but he was my son and Lorenzo and I had sworn to care for him no matter what.

Lorenzo. I do wonder what became of him. Wherever Lorenzo is, my baby boy will be with him. If only I could track the damned man somehow. For thirteen years, I have been scouring files and documents for any sign of the man who was once my husband. Yet I have found nothing.

My father puts a mug of sweet-smelling tea on the coffee table and gently takes the frame from my hands. “That won’t do you any good,” he says softly. “You’ll find him one day, Jessica, but not by sitting and worrying. You live in the past too much.”

I smile, picking up the mug and taking a sip of the warm drink. “So do you,” I remind him. “He’ll be okay so long as he has Lorenzo. If only Lorenzo were with me.”

My father sits on the sofa beside me and gently puts a hand on my knee. It is a comforting gesture but does nothing to soothe my grief for the loss of my husband and son.

“One day there will be a little boy in his bedroom where he belongs,” I say sincerely, “I swear that to you, Dad, I swear it.” I sip the tea. Does he have Lorenzo’s hair? What about my eyes? Does he laugh like his father? Can he run faster than his mother used to? What’s his favourite colour? Does he like football? What were his last exam results like? Would he rather go to a fairground or a bowling alley?

My boy. My precious, precious little boy. I hope to G-d he isn’t stuck in the foster system. Please, Lorenzo, please have had enough sense not to do that; not to our boy.

Suddenly the tea is taken from my hands, and I realise that I am _crying_. My son’s fate rests in Lorenzo’s hands - playful, Christian Lorenzo, who couldn’t resist a joke; young, carefree Lorenzo, who had no idea of the responsibilities he had in front of him - and I just hope that they have been, and will continue to be, good ones. There is nothing that I can do except hope.

With shaky hands, I pull out my mobile from my pocket. My father sighs loudly, knowing exactly what I'm about to do. But I can't help it. I need to hear his voice.

Lorenzo's mobile has been going to answerphone for thirteen years, and I'll cut off my left hand if he picks up now.

"Hey, you've reached Lorenzo. I'm a bit busy at the moment, what with my little man and all, but I'll try to call you back when I have the time."

I wonder what he did with it. It's still working, so he must have it with him somehow. Is he just not picking up my calls out of pure ignorance? Does he really want Marcus all to himself? Is  _that_ what all this is about? I have lost my son all because Lorenzo wants him for his own? A little boy will grow up without a mother, and all because his father wants him all to himself? No. It is cruel and wrong, and I have spent thirteen years wondering what Lorenzo thinks when I shouldn't have been.

Maybe now is a good time to stop wondering and to start finding out.

Maybe my father is right. Maybe I  _do_ live in the past too much. Maybe today is a day to start living in the present - and the future. Maybe today is the day that I start building a life for myself - whether Marcus and Lorenzo are in it or not.

I stand up, wiping tears from my cheeks and I pick up the mug of tea. It feels cold. I take the mug into the kitchen and pour the cold tea down the sink. My mother never drank cold tea, and nor do I. My father, however, seems to be able to drink anything cold. Lorenzo used to do that a lot. He'd wait for his coffee to go slightly lukewarm before he drank it. I used to be able to do that with him before he left. Maybe that's why I stopped. Maybe I was too full of grief and anger to let any memory of him seep through the cracks. Maybe I just wanted to eradicate any sort of indication that he had ever been in my life. Maybe the young, twenty-year-old Jessica wanted to show her father that she had learned from her mistakes.

But now I see that marrying Lorenzo was never a mistake. Converting to Christianity was not a mistake. It was Lorenzo deciding to take Marcus away that was the mistake. He made a mistake that cost me so much, and he so little. 

And now I know that I need to move on. There is no use crying over something that I never really had in the first place, after all.

* * *

When my father leaves - after around five minutes of promising that I'll call him if anything's wrong - I set to work. I begin by taking out all the things from Marcus's bedroom that I can't bear to throw away: a bear that smells of talcum powder; a board book that has Marcus's name printed on the front in my father's handwriting; two teething rings; a pale blue blanket that seems to have faded in several places; and finally there is his baby book, where Lorenzo and I used to write down how he developed and changed as he got older. (The book has been untouched since "Six Months Old".)

I put everything into a box and leave it out in the hallway. They can go into the attic later on. I start to dismantle the cot, removing the mattress and covers. I am surprised when something slips from in between the wood and onto the carpet. I pick it up and study the picture in confusion. It's Lorenzo and I, taken the day Marcus was born. I swear quietly. I look so  _young_. But why is the picture in Marcus's cot?

I shake my head. That doesn't matter. I put the picture into the box and return to finish dismantling the cot. I take it down with ease and move onto the next job: emptying the toy box. Nothing in there will be of use to any of my friends' children - at four, it's highly unlikely that Gabriele will be interested in toys that a six-month-old played with. These will have to go to the charity store, along with Marcus's clothes.

All of a sudden, my phone vibrates. I pull it out and see the face of my boss, Ivano. Slowly I raise the phone to my ear. "How can I help you?"

"I need you to get over to 16b Crofters Grove, as soon as you possibly can. Take the work car."

I raise my eyebrows. "Do I need to bring anything?"

"Only your strongest stomach, Jessica."

 


End file.
